|Scene Title||Scooter Trouble|
|Synopsis||Halima finds her vintage 1966 Vespa 180CC with a slashed tire and Wesley keeps her company and tries to get into her pants.|
Parked in the back alley of a Chinatown market, shortly after the shops have all closed, is a bright yellow vintage Vespa scooter. For the auto afficianados out there it's a Vespa 1966 180CC, well maintained and freshly cleaned. One of the tires has been slashed. Walking towards it is a woman of Persian descent, dressed conservatively in business attire with a large bag slung over her shoulder. "Oh you have got to be…" she pinches her face up in frustration when se sees the knife cut along the length of its tire. With surprisingly little effort she tips the scooter onto its back wheel and starts pushing it out of the alley. "Fuckin' wanker punks ruining people's stuff."
With a red Gretsch G5135 electric guitar on his back, Wesley's carrying a young punk in his early 20s, around the same age as him. He's holding the guy up by the scruff of his jacket, and the punk's bloody nose says he got on his bad side. "Stupid mortal tried to steal my guitar. Guess he slashed your tires too. Hey, are hot Muslim chicks supposed to talk like that?" he asks as he tosses the punk at her feet, then just watches.
"I'm not a Muslim, I'm a Persian Englishwoman." She answers in, what a surprise, a British accent, pushing her set of wheels around the body thrown onto the ground. She hefts her scooter down the alley and turning it with again, little effort, over a curb. "You muss up that kid bad?" She asks over her shoulder. The few people still left on the streets give her more room than she needs, even with her scooter.
"He's not dead, or paralyzed, I just broke his nose and his fingers 'cause the only people who can touch my guitar are the same people who can touch my junk, women." Wesley casually follows her, hands in his pockets as he looks her over. "I think you're my first Persian, hot. You see me on TV last night? I kicked some rock monster ass."
"I don't own a television and you must not watch one. There's a massive crater in Scarsdale with a dead giant hanging out of it, all over the internet. Killing a monster is hardly an impressive feat these days." She lowers her scooter to the ground and doubles over, curling one arm around the footboard of her scooter. With a bit of a grunt she hefts it over one shoulder and starts walking again. "The world is going to go to hell, if it hasn't already."
"Yeah, isn't it great? The Ragnarok is almost here, then it'll be all battling all the time. Everyone in the Yggdrasil are gonna watch the best show ever." Wesley walks up next to her, on the side without the scooter. "My name's Wesley, you kill monsters too? Fun, isn't it?"
"Last time I was bit by a spider the size of a truck. It's fang dislocated my shoulder and left me with a puncture wound the size of a tea saucer. It's a second job and I don't find it either pleasant or unpleasant." She rolls her left shoulder and lets out a breath. "But if you're satisfied by something like that, then you're satisfied by something like that."
"I don't think anyone's done worse than I've done to myself so far. I ripped my hand off once." Wesley leans over, sniffing her cheek a few times without actually touching her. "So, what're you doing tonight? And if you don't like giant spiders, you should hang out with me and I'll take care of that stuff."
"I'm going to take my bike to the auto supply shop a few blocks away and then get a new tire. Then I'm going home to mummify the black-headed ibis I just bought. I've been waiting to pick up the bird for a while and it's been freshly euthanized." She ignores the sniff and adjusts the motor bike over her shoulder. "It'll be a good addition to the collection."
"You mummify stuff? That's pretty badass. I just fight and play guitar. I study myth stuff a lot too, gotta be prepared for monsters." Wesley pulls his guitar around, starting a slow yet skillful strumming. "Persian girl, you rock my world. Your lips are hot, my name is not Scott!" he sings, before sliding his guitar back around to his back. "I play guitar, I can't really write lyrics."
"Whatever, mate. Since you're hitting on the weird-looking woman you've probably been shot down by everyone else. Which is not very good at evoking lust." She clutches the big bag she carries closer to her torso. "You want to impress me, do something that isn't just an attempt to make you feel like you have a bigger prick." She smiles at someone who stares at her rather openly for carrying a several-hundred-pound motor bike over her shoulder.
"I don't have trouble getting other women, you have confidence issues or something?" Wesley asks with a grin, hands in his pockets again as he looks her over, his eyes everywhere they shouldn't be. "So what would impress you? I could lift a car or something."
"Not really. What are you, thirteen? Strong mortals can lift cars. -I- could lift a car if I put all my body and ichor into it and my father is a god of birds and language. If you try and approach the war for the world as a problem to be beat into submission you're going to be dead when a real fight comes. But that's kind of the Nordic Gods' thing, isn't it?" She looks over with a flat expression, "Fatalistic and doomed by your own beliefs in your coming deaths."
"Hey, I'm just a guy interested in a woman." Wesley says with a casual shrug, still staring, having an oddly curious look. "And I'm not fatalistic. They're the ones trying to stop the Ragnarok, I don't care if it happens, I'm just gonna fight my way through until I win."
"Why do you assume I'm interested in you?" She adjusts the bike over her shoulder with the hand that holds it. A few more people stare. "That's another thing. I'm not really into the 'I'm the gods' gift to women' schtick half of you male god spawn affect. It wasn't attractive when I was a mortal and it isn't attractive now. I didn't lose my good sense or good taste when my ichor was invigorated."
"If I thought you were interested I'd have asked if I could go to your place by now." Wesley admits, sighing before he pulls out a stick of chewing gum and slips it into his mouth. "And I'm not so much being egotistical as I'm just being truthful. I'm interested in you, and we both kind've know what my motive is, so what's the point in me lying and doing all that other sappy stuff that you'd hate anyway, y'know?"
Halima shifts her bike back into place with a roll of her shoulder. "Well, it's an inherently insulting act, to assume that my interest in interpersonal relationships are defined entirely by sex. Especially after awakening to my divine status. Why be a slave to the urges of your flesh when your inheritance is of something more refined than the physical existence?"
"I didn't say anything was entirely anything else, sex is what it is, doesn't mean I can't be friends with a girl after it." Wesley defends, shrugging, then looks down at her scooter when she lowers it. "Maybe I should be asking you, just because we're rising to this god-like status, why should we miss out on the urges of the flesh? Sex is great, don't you think so?"
"There are other things I find more rewarding. Life is a series of decisions. You choose what you want more from moment to moment. That's what you want. It isn't what I want." She leans over to avoid a tree limb with the scooter. "I've been waiting for the bird I have in this bag for months now. I want to mummify it properly so I can preserve its beauty. Plus you threw a beat-the-hell up mortal at my feet and sniffed me before you even so much as knew my name. That's creepy as hell."
"Hey, I didn't get good at guitar from walking around boning chicks, you're talking like I've got a one track mind." Wesley sounds almost mildy offended, but just shakes his head and keeps following. "I like to know people's scents, easier to find 'em later on. I guess I can forget going anywhere near your pants, as much as I hate to admit it. So, you ever mummify anything huge?"
"No, I'm not that good yet." the Persian woman admits casually, "It took many skilled Egyptian priests many man-hours to mummify a human. Even with modern techniques and machines it would take at least one other assistant and more medical knowledge than I have to properly dissect anything larger than small animals such as birds or cats."
"So, to avoid looking like a dick who'll try to screw a woman without knowing her name, what's your name?" Wesley asks, apparently having forgotten to ask easlier. "And when you mummify stuff, what, you just wrap bandages around it and stuff?"
"Halima." She offers, after a longer pause. "And no. I remove and preserve the supernally significant organs in canopic jars for each specimen. Each bird is then soaked overnight in a special preservative and antibiotic that won't leech colors from the feathers. The carcasses are then desiccated and then stuffed and posed. Then bandages. I use a fine gauze so you can see the feathers underneath in the right light."
"Fuck," Wesley rubs his stomach after the explanation, apparently not expecting it to be so… detailed. "I've stuck my fist into my share of Titanspawn, but fuck, that's pretty hardcore and weird." He looks down to her bag, suddenly curious about what the amazing bird is. "Uh, can I watch?"
"It's more of a private ceremony. If you're really interested though, I'll keep you in mind if you want to help with the preparation of a larger specimen. If I ever come across one that would fit with my aesthetic." She opens the bag when Wesley looks at it. There's a brown package inside that might be so innocuous as to hold three large text books, "It's been recently euthanized and packed with some dry ice for preservation."
"Was just curious, I don't think it's gonna be my life's work or anything, but I'll help some time to see what it's like." Wesley agrees, appearing to keep a little distance, emotion-wise, that or he's hiding a bit of awkwardness. "Fuck, I really suck at talking to women about, y'know, casual stuff. Trying to learn though, 'cause of this other woman I met."
"You get screwed over in the figurative sense? Let me guess, another god's spawn." She asks, curling a handle of the bag over the shoulder again to close the bag. "Another reason why I don't find god spawn all that attractive. Seen one enthrall with a spoken word and a gesture. I find it inherently untrustworthy."
"I guess she's one, but nothing bad happened. It's just, I talked to her and learned that women actually have interesting shit to say." Wesley explains, looking around with a bit of embarassment, possibly worried about someone hearing him say something like that. "And I don't know how to do shit like that, it's the sneaky pussy way out. I don't see the point in sleeping with a woman if I used some stupid trick to do it. I know I seem like a jerk since I'm all open about wanting to sleep with you and all, but I'm not some evil bastard even if I do suck at being one of those suit wearing cigar smoking guys who have chocolate and stuff."
"Well, I just had my house carpeted so it's a non-smoking zone. And desiccated bird corpses are highly flammable. And men like that are even more pathetic." She drops the scooter down with a grunt outside of a building with a sign that says "Empire Motor Supply Co." "This is it." The store is dimmed with security lights on and no one inside. "I didn't think they would be open, but," the persian woman lowers herself to haul the scooter back onto her shoulder, "mnph, had to check. Get to walk to Queens now I guess. Should only take three hours. Couple of spares in my garage." She starts off down the street again.
"You'd think a guy like me would be good at fixing cars and stuff, but I can barely drive, I just walk everywhere, or hitch a ride on the back of a bus." Wesley walks in front of her, hands still in his pockets. "I could carry you /and/ the scooter, but I don't think you're gonna let me carry you, so just let me carry the scooter if we're going all the way to Queens?" He's apparently going to walk her home.
"It only weighs three hundred pounds. Not that I don't appreciate such a gesture but I need the exercise anyway. If my body was as durable as other god spawn I wouldn't have had been stabbed through the shoulder by a spider's fang." She pauses at an intersection and presses the cross button a few times, "But. Maybe I got lucky since the venom it injected was squirted into the air behind me."
"I've never been poisoned, don't know if it'd kill me or not. Now, I'm not judging your fighting prowess or anything, but if you're having that much trouble, well…" Wesley shrugs, beginning to follow her once she denies his offer. "I could teach you how I fight. You might think I'm a dumb beatstick or something, but my way's kept me alive this long, so I might be doing something right… right?"
"It was a spider the size of a small truck. A pair of intelligent titanspawn. They're dead and I'm alive." She crosses the street when the path looks free of any oncomming vehicles. "It was an ambush, I don't go out looking for a fight. After the bite they both died quickly. Maybe the one that bit me got lucky with its fangs. But I'm not a warrior. I'm a scientist."
"Shit, man, I don't think I ever met a scientist before, no wonder you're all anti-sex." Wesley says as if it all makes sense now, hands in his pockets once again. "In my fight last night, I smashed a big rock monster inbetween two cars, that was pretty fun. Wish I got to fight spiders though, last spider I fought was a robot and it knocked me out."
"That's not a very logical conclusion to draw. We're just generally not interested in distractions from things more important. And you speak as if it's some kind of negative quality. If Newton spent his entire life chasing slags in ankle-showing skirts you wouldn't have that guitar to show off like a patch of colored feathers." She stretches her shoulder with the bike resting on it. "And you might not be able to strut in front of the camera to show off."
"You think a few hours of stress relief is a distraction? Have you ever done it?" Wesley asks, not quite understanding what she means. "And that guy invented TV and guitars? I thought, like, I don't know, some cool guy invented guitars.
"It's a distraction when you have to finish a paper submission so it will be reviewed early enough to be accepted before the next issue of the journal goes to editing, at the risk of losing your research funding. Or when you have a presentation to finish before the symposium where you're keynote. Or when you're working on your PhD thesis defense. What would you have done with your life if you weren't the child of a god? I would have at least had my PhD." She rubs her large nose with the thumb of her free hand. "And Newton developed the foundational physics needed to develop sciences that were needed to develop sciences to create electronic instruments. And he was the first man to describe the behavior of light and optics, which permitted construction of the camera obscura, which led to the development of the camera, and then to video. Among uncountable other modern conveniences. Have some respect."
"Hey sorry, I'm just not a science guy, I get it though." Wesley agrees, nodding. "Alright, so, let's say you have all that stuff to do. What about when you've got nothing to do and you've got a guy like me around, you have some fun, then you got back to work, seems harmless to me, but eh, I don't know, I'm not a scientist." He sounds fairly perplexed, but speaks in a manner that suggests he's trying to learn exactly what she's thinking about things. "And I don't know what I'd be doing, I'm not doing anything differently than I've always done them. All being the son of a god changed as how big the stuff I fight are. Guess I never had much of a life to get disrupted or whatever. But if we weren't god people, I'd still be having the same discussion with you, just without all the god stuff."
"If I had nothing to do when I was a mortal? Sure. If I have nothing to do now that I'm a god's daughter? Then I'm failing in my responsibilities. I could be designing a new gun, or building a supernally fast quantum computer, or developing a weapon that functions based on exploiting one of the fundamental forces besides gravity. Or ensuring my father receives a portion of my fateful essence to do whatever he needs to do in the Overworld." She pats the bag, "That's why I do ibises. I would do a baboon if I could get my hands on a carcass of one, but that's a good way to get on Interpol's shitlist."
"I don't think your responsibilities are supposed to obliterate your private life." Wesley moves a hand to gently place it on her back, for once not instantly grabbing a woman's ass. "Alright then, how about this. I get you any animal you want, any time you want, 'cause I could personally give two shits about interpol. All I want you to do is give me one day, you don't even have to sleep with me, as badly as I want to, I just want you to give me a day to have fun with you. Just one day for a lifetime of me getting catching any animal you damned well please."
"I'll consider it." She says, though she did tense at the touch. "The offer will be void if you rob from a zoo, or get the wrong species, however. All baboons are on restricted trade and monitored by wildlife protection agencies, even though few are threatened. They're popular as bushmeat in Africa and among immigrants in the States. And there are species you can't take, because they aren't actually baboons, even if they're called baboons. And of course if the animal is damaged it's useless. These are sacrifices, not disposals."
"Just give me a picture and write my instructions and I'm good." Wesley 's hand strokes for a moment, then he pulls it back and slides it into his pocket. "I don't really understand what smart women like, so, y'know, I've just gotta do my best. If I say or do something dumb, try not to hold it against me, I'm a guy whose main skills are punching monsters and plucking strings."
"Well, I already know it's going to be a Hamadryas Baboon, male, the larger and more successful the better. The most successful and important males draw hundreds of individuals around them. They live along cliffs at the Red Sea in Egypt." She walks through a group of kids who stare at her as she carries her scooter through them. "Try treating them like people, who aren't just lust-recepticles."
"I keep sex and being friends kind've seperate usually, except this one girl. It's like 'Hey, we fucked, let's go see a movie'." Wesley pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, then starts writing as she speaks. "Man, I've gotta find a way to get to Egypt now. Alright, and how do you want it killed?"
"Carbon monoxide poisoning. You can tranquilize it before that, to make it easier. As long as it dies via carbon monoxide and isn't physically damaged. This will preserve the beauty of the tissues. Have you seen someone die of, say, smoke inhalation? Carbon monoxide preserves a blush of life, making it easier to mimmic." She drops the bike and rotates it before picking it up again. "Much better. Don't forget to preserve it in dry ice after it has stopped breathing. Anything else will damage the corpse."
"Works for me, I'll see what I can do. I know the daughter of a death goddess, I'm sure she has all sorts of tricks." Wesley starts eyeing cars passing by, possibly contemplating something. "Me and you though, if I get this baboon." He steps in front of her, then leans forward to quickly peck her lips, and starts running toward a slow moving taxi. "I'm getting you a ride, screw all this walking."
Halima makes a face at the touch of lips but smoothes out the knit in her brow quickly. "You think this is going to fit in a taxi? I'm not risking it in a trunk, it's an original vintage scooter. Still has a manual pedal starter and non-electronic engine." She walks after quickly, unable to run with the weight planted on her shoulder. "I just had it brightened."
"Damn, good point, keep walking." Wesley returns to the sidewalk, realizing that taxis aren't exactly known for backseat size, sighing. He doesn't really say anything about the peck, he just licks his lips a few times. "So what's your god parent like, anyway? We related?"
"Doubt it. I'm the daughter of Thoth, an Egyptian god of knowledge and language. Hence the mummies. The Pesedjet, is the correct name. He's an intelligent god, the most intelligent of the Pesedjet. He is also the god of magic and the moon, as well as justice and judgement." She looks to Wesley, "I already know you're the son of a Nordic god, but it's difficult to guess which one. They all seem to be warrior deities."
"Thor's my father, I heard he's missing. He screamed in all our heads a few months ago, but I've never met him. He sent some guy when I lost an arm, and replaced it with a thing called the Godhand. But right now I'm missing that arm too, I've gotta get it back soon." Wesley holds his right arm up, wiggling his fingers. "This is my third arm. Uh, I guess Thor is the god of thunder, and Thursday."
"Mn. Well, it's not too unusual for divine beings to regrow limbs. I try to avoid getting them chopped off. Don't know if I would grow another if I lost a hand. The hole in my shoulder closed in about six hours though. So maybe." She points to her left shoulder with the thumb of her left hand. "No scar either. Ichor does some amazing things."
"Someone grew my arm back for me. I'm not big on getting healed, but I hate fighting with a handicap when the handicap is missing a limb." Wesley finally starts to look at her face, instead of the rest of her body, tilting his head. "So, hey, why'd you say you were weird looking earlier?"
"Because I am weird looking. Especially since my ichor was activated. My nose has gotten larger and wider and my eyes a little smaller and farther apart. Secondary effects of ichor I suppose. Maybe if I establish a legend for myself that extends outside of my father's shadow I things will be different." She shrugs indifferently, "Side effects of being the child of a god from a pantheon of animal-featured deities. I don't mind, but I am somewhat weird looking as far as the mortal standard of beauty is concerned. It also seems to be the deific standard of beauty."
Wesley once again finds himself stepping in front of her, moving two fingers to gently take her chin, examining her face. "You seem nice enough to me. But I always thought looks were kind've petty, y'know? Like, who cares what someone looks like? It's what they can do that counts. But hey, if no other guys want you, their loss." He turns forward again, waiting to follow her. "I don't know if I'm good looking or not, but I suck at the whole personality thing. I'd rather have a cool personality than be super good looking, things might be easier."
"Better work on it then. There's always room for improvement. Maybe you could talk to one of the pretty boys floating around out there for advice. I'm sure you've met one, or will meet one. I've met more Scions in this city than I have mortals, outside of my workplace. And I'm sure the pretty boys will want to know how to fight, so they don't get their faces messed up when a titanspawn assaults them." She runs a hand through her hair and dabs away a little sweat on her forehead with a sleeve.
"Can't stand them, they're always so self-righteous and talk like they know everything, makes me wanna punch 'em in the face." Wesley's hand once again goes for touching, turning to her back. "So, hey, I was wondering if I could get your number or something, maybe I could stop by after you're done with your bird thing, and I could come over and we could talk late at night when there's nothing else to do." Of course his implications are obvious, but he's staying vague, having tact for once. Something about the woman kind of intimidates him into some tactfulness.
"I don't know. I live in a community with a home owner's association. I don't need a group of old bitties hassling me about lowering their property values by encouraging people they find frightening to stop by. I try to engender respect in the mortals I know." Her body tenses at the touch again. "And you haven't earned it yet, besides. I think we agreed that there would be a no-sex interaction if you brought back a baboon, and unless you've done that…"
"Yeah alright, just thought I'd take one last shot at getting laid tonight. I'm not giving up on you, but I think I'm gonna head home, unless you want me to keep walking you." Wesley says before grinning slightly at her tensing up, then slides his hand slowly up and down her back. "You've definitely never been with a guy." he snickers, though doesn't seem to be teasing her for it, just mildly amused by her reaction. "I could use a pizza."
"I'll be safe, go get your food. Who's going to start anything with a woman carrying a three hundred pound scooter on one shoulder? And I'm armed in more ways than one." She offers a sharp look but says nothing at the implication regarding her sexual accomplishments. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll draw away any real trouble if half your brags are true."
Wesley grabs another piece of paper, writing down his number and handing it to her. "Yeah, I'm just gonna eat and practice my guitar some. Call whenever, I don't care how late it is."
"Right. I'll keep that in mind." She accepts the paper and slips it into a jacket pocket. "Watch out for the mechanized spiders." She gives a small wave with a flat smile.